30 August 2012

winryweiss: (Default)
Fill for this prompt
part three part five
Warnings: Alternate Universe. Haddock/Tintin.

The Crab with the Mechanical Claws (part 4)

9th of July, 193-, Karaboudjan
Tintin is holding his head in his arms, wishing the pain will just go away. This irks him to no end. Why do they always aim to head? It hurts. Well, it is the easiest way how to knock somebody out, but still ... He will end up with some serious brain damage if this will go on. He doesn’t realize that he is rocking himself gently.
Milou sticks its head-piece to him, nuzzling its master with silent puffs.
The ginger reporter looks sharply up, amazed beyond words. He thought that his automaton did hide itself amongst crates in the secret room.
“Milou! How did you got here?”
The copper dog sits heavily, pointing his head-piece to small hole, which was apparently made recently. Its brinks are still red-hot from the fire of Milou’s welding machine.
Tintin laughs and polishes Milou muzzle. “You must burn up all the fuel, right?” The young boy stands, ignoring the dull thuds in his head, and starts to rummaging through crates surrounding him to find some water. One of the crates gives a muffled sound of bottles tapping together and Tintin opens it immediately. “Aaah, crumbs. Champagne.” He looks at his automaton, who somehow appears suddenly very excited. Tintin could swear that bonfires of anticipation lit up in Milou’s eyes. “Well, I have no other choice.” He kneels down, unbolts the latch on Milou’s back and pours whole bottle into his automaton fuel tank.
“But if you will run around like after the whisky …”
Milou shudders and jumps in the air.
And Tintin couldn’t suppress laugh.
Archibald Haddock paces in his cell to and fro. He needs a plan. He needs to escape. He needs to calm down. He needs to think up something. Before they will leave territorial waters of England. Blistering barnacles, he is in the biggest mess he has ever been!
“Fine, Milou.” Tintin claps his hands and rubs them together. “Let’s go.” He unscrews his automaton dog’s tail, which is actually an end-hook of 10 feet long chain made from lightened copper. With practiced swing he hooks it on the ventilation shaft lid above. He breathes in, hangs all his weight on the chain and jerks. The lid comes loose with a loud “pop” and even louder “crash” when landing on crates. Tintin stands completely still, non-breathing, eyes on locked door. But no one seems to notice. The ginger reporter breathes out with relief. Once again he hooks the useful gadget to the ventilation, fastens his handy dog-device to end of chain and climbs up to the shaft, pulling Milou up to himself. “Lead me, boy.”
Archibald punches the wall and yells out of frustration. He was never good at thorough planning. “Damn it!” He mutters, then resumes to pacing, hands joined behind his back. His mother did always said When in troubles, ask God for help. He lost all his faith long ago, memories of ‘Great War’ still haunting him during sleepless nights. But, well, it couldn’t get any worse, could it? “Oh, God.” He stops, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I would appreciate a help.”
And that is the exact time when the lid of ventilation directly above him gives up under Tintin’s and Milou’s combined weight.

9th of July, 193-, Brussels
“Say, Thompson …”
“Yes, Thomson?”
“Don’t you think that we should really stop him this time?”
“Don’t you know him? When he works on a story, there is no way to hold him back.”
“Yes, but …”
Both detectives look once again around Tintin’s wrecked living room. Everything is messed up, things are scattered all around the room, coffee table shattered to pieces, stuffing of the armchairs ripped out. Tintin’s study is in much worse state, papers laying everywhere, all books on the floor, his beloved typewriter battered down. Bedroom too, their friend’s clothes plucked out from drawers, torn and inside out.
Someone tried to find something here. And he was desperate.
“This time I’m really afraid for him.”

9th of July, 193-, Karaboudjan
It hurts. Archibald knows pain well. His scar is a constant memory of it. And of the war. And all the suffering and desperation and lost friends. But, oh God, this hurts. Was that the Heavens answer, striking him down with ventilation lid, boy and automaton dog?
… Wait.
Boy and automaton dog?
He looks up, meeting the boy’s concerned gaze of luscious emerald green.
“Crumbs.” Tintin says as the relief that he actually didn’t kill the man changes to terror from the fact that he had been discovered.
Archibald, feeling totally dumbstruck, simply asks: “Where?”
“Captain? Captain, what was that noise?” The guard behind the door asks.
The boy grows pale after hearing that. He tries to scramble backward, but Archibald is quicker to react. He grabs Tintin by wrist, pulling himself from underneath the lid. He pushes the ginger reporter against wall roughly, pressing his hand over Tintin’s mouth. Captain is rewarded by well aimed kicks, punches and even a bite while Milou tries to gnaw at his calf. All of this happens in complete silence.
“Shhhh.” The former soldier whispers, looking directly into Tintin’s eyes.
And Tintin calms down, realizing, seeing the sincerity in sea-colored eyes of the other man. He beckons Milou to stop.
Archibald retreats immediately, crouching down next to the ventilation lid. Tintin hides himself into the door’s dead angle, Milou pressed against his legs. Door clang open and both guards step inside, unaware of the boy. He takes full advantage of it, knocking one out, while Captain deals quickly with the other. The reporter and the former soldier look at each other ignoring the unconscious crewmembers.
“Captain? You are Archibald Haddock?”
“Yeah, but the captain part is disputable, laddie.”
Captain gives him an uncomprehending look.
“I am called Tintin.”
“Lad, I believe that nicknames are used to cover yer true name, not to point yer out.”
“I am reporter.”
“Aha. Caught when yer were sniffing around, huh?”
“Yes, sort of. Is there any way to get away from here?”
“Let’s hijack a lifeboat.”
“From your own ship?”
“Why not?”
Tintin observes Archibald attentively, searching for any traces of drunkenness. Captain is well-built man, perhaps a little rounded, taller by a head than him, with short black hair and tousled beard, but with gentle, sincere eyes. His nose is without doubts a dominant feature on his face, but goes along well with the sailor cap on his head. Despite the warmth of summer he wears a thick, navy blue sweater and long black trousers.
The ginger reporter senses his lips turning to a smile. Really, why not? “Fine. Where is the lifeboat?”

Author’s notes
This time, I'm decent.
x Milou’s fuel is just water liquid, no coals and it still works. Somehow. He has engine inside and Tintin must to add water from time to time. But Milou preffers alcoholic beverages. He is feeling hyper fuelled after them.
x 10 feet (roughly 3 metres) long chain from lightened copper with hook on its end. I believe you could imagine it very well. And lightened copper is an alloy.


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